


burn brightly, my dear

by Whatabeautifulday23



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Death, F/M, Family, Fluff, Love, Pain, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatabeautifulday23/pseuds/Whatabeautifulday23
Summary: "I love you, and we have forever, I promise." Betty Cooper once whispered to Jughead Jones in the dark of the night. But it was not meant to be. Some promises are meant to be broken - with some hearts right along with them. Of course, Betty was never supposed to get sick - that wasn't for them - but how were they supposed to know that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I've had in my heart for a long time, searching for the right characters to fit into it. Please remember, this is a fictional story, so I've flexed some of this disease's aspects around to fit it. It won't be exactly like the real world disease, and it's possible I'll get some things wrong.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that this is a sad story. Angst a-plenty! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!

**Stage 1**

            Promises can be a balm, used to soothe and heal prickled feelings and scratched skin. But they can also be a slow-working poison, never meant to corrupt, but damaging all the same. Promises, sometimes, are broken; it’s an unavoidable fact of life. You live, you get hurt, you heal, and you die. Not always in that order, and sometimes a few of the steps are missing.

            “I love you,” she whispered long ago into his chest as he tucked her close. “I love you, and we have forever, I promise.”

            He had smiled and kissed her forehead, both believing in the lie, because, at the time, it was the only truth available to them. How could the two ever guess what the future would hold?

            Her promise, while meant in earnest, was poison. Because, while the word forever passed through her lips, her body sang a different song. Forever was not written in their stars.

**____________________**

            The day that Betty Cooper discovered she was dying was fitfully dreary. In Riverdale, it was often one or the other: magnificently bright and cheerful, or dim and gloomy. The clouds were gray, and before the watery sun crept into the sky, there was a faint fog lingering about the dark streets.

            When Betty’s alarm rung, Jughead Jones groaned and shifted under the blankets to press his face into the pillow. He felt Betty shift next to him, and he smiled when he felt a kiss graze across his cheek. Then she was gone, and the other side of the bed was empty. Jughead thought about getting up, joining her in the bathroom – but he had been up so late, both of them had.

            His face warmed as he thought about all the ways he had made love to her last night, in an earnest attempt to help her fall asleep (though, of course, it wasn’t _just_ to make her tired). In the end, _he_ was the one who passed out first. Jughead hoped Betty had finally gotten some rest – over the past few months, she had been having insomnia issues. The lack of sleep was affecting her already; she was prone to awful moods, and just the other night, he had caught her wandering around their apartment with a baseball bat. When he had asked why she was pacing so, she replied, “what if Riverdale is struck by another killer, Jug? I’m going to be ready.”

            It didn’t seem to matter that Riverdale had been peaceful for, hell, five years. Long enough for both of them to get a college diploma without a disturbance. And he definitely didn’t remind her that a baseball bat would probably be useless against an intruder, especially if he was armed.

It was kind of terrifying, watching what that lack of sleep did to the light of his light. Enough so that Alice Cooper had set her foot down and, as Betty’s employer and mother, set up a sleep study for her. And then, after that, a PET scan.

            They were both worried, though her doctor hadn’t contacted either of them yet. So, they did the one thing everyone else in Riverdale did when they had issues – buried the thoughts of it, and continue on with their day-to-day life. Even though Jughead _hated_ it.

            When Betty emerged from the bathroom, cloaked in a lilac dress, he sat up, looking at her with a worried frown. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked as he ran a hand through his hair, attempting to muss it just right.

            She smiled at him, golden and resplendent, and sat down on the bed last night. “I did sleep better last night, thank you,” she replied, but he caught the flicker in her eye, the set to her jaw. Betty was lying.

            Jughead smiled tightly back at her, felt his hands clench into fists as they gripped onto the sheets. But he let it go. It was so rare that Betty ever lied to him, he couldn’t bring himself to question her on it. “Have a nice day at work, Betts.” Jug told her and leaned up, pressing another kiss to her lips. He felt the pink of her lipstick stick to his own lips, but he didn’t care – as always, it was a pleasure to be marked by Betty, no matter what shape or form it took.

            “Will do. Get some work done today!” Betty called over her shoulder as she strode out the door, lilac dress flowing around her, leaving only the faintest scent of strawberries in the air. He watched her go, and heard the door to the apartment click gently on her way out. Jughead could practically hear her heels clicking down the hall to the elevator. He could see her driving to work at The Register, sitting at her desk and typing, typing, typing.

            Jughead sighed, deeply. He was alone. He supposed that he _should_ probably get some work done today, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but Betty. Betty, Betty, Betty. For someone who had a way with words, he couldn’t think of anything to compare to how much he needed her – the way the Earth needed the sun, maybe. Without her…well.

            But they were fine. Better than fine, actually, fantastic was the better word. In the middle of her sophomore year of college, Betty had moved out of her parent’s home, and into an apartment building. Jughead had followed, once she extended the invitation. And they still lived in that apartment, on the edge of Riverdale. Betty had achieved her bachelor’s degree in journalism, and he in creative writing. Jughead could hardly believe that he, too, had a college degree, and in something he loved.

            Betty went on to work at The Register, something she hadn’t initially planned on, but they both agreed was best for now. They wanted to stay close to their families, especially since FP was due out of jail in only a few months’ time. And Jughead…his novel was published a year ago, and actually did pretty decently out on the market. He had never realized that True Crime novels were trending, and really, it was a stroke of good luck. But that stroke of good luck would lead to another one; he had a literary agent, Justine, and _man_ she would kick his ass if he didn’t get this next section finished on time.

            There was a part of him that morally objected to deadlines, because true art could not be rushed, but it paid the bills pretty damn well.

            Jughead spent most of the morning working on his second novel, until he was so sucked up into it that Betty called twice before he heard his cell ringing. “Hey, gorgeous,” he answered, twirling around in his desk chair, before propping his feet up on the desk.

            “Juggie,” Betty whispered, and he shot to attention, straightening up and nearly tumbling out of his chair. “Um, my doctor called me, said it was an emergency and I should come in as soon as possible. Will you…c-come with me? Meet me there?” There was fear in her voice, tightening and strangling it. Jughead felt that same fear twist up in his own gut. Why would her doctor summon her so ominously unless it was bad news?

            “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in, like, ten minutes. I love you,” he said and hung up, heart pounding in his chest. Dread was unfurling in his chest. Nothing good ever came from the doctor except pain meds, and Jughead could count on both hands the amount of times he had actually gone for a check-up. It could even be said that he was a little scared of the doctor’s office.

            But there was no way in hell he was about to let Betty go there alone.

**____________________**

            On the drive over, Jughead was more than a little anxious. It was not every day that the love of your life was called into the doctor’s office like this. He thought about calling Archie, or Ronnie, but that would mean explaining and Jug wasn’t sure he could explain anything. Archie and Ronnie were in the dark about Betty’s sleeping issues, the sleep study and the PET scan. And, really, what he wanted was for his fears to be assuaged, not to heap them onto someone else.

            Jughead put his truck in park and leaped out, searching for Betty’s car and finding her standing by it. When he got to her, her face was pale and tear-stained, and he did the only thing that he could: he wrapped his arms tightly around her and refused to let go. For what felt like hours, they held on to each other, and Jug felt the hot press of tears on the back of his eyelids.

            Finally, they released each other, and without a word, he took her hand, and they went inside.

            Jughead found the waiting room to be creepy. It was too bright, though it hadn’t seemed like it when he was there with Betty only a few weeks earlier. Maybe now he just didn’t trust the false sense of comfort the brightness offered.

            They were quiet, hands clasped tight enough that it almost hurt. But there was a silver lining to that: Jughead couldn’t feel any nail marks on Betty’s palm. That in itself was a relief. He didn’t want any sudden relapses when she had been doing so well for almost three years now. Incidents came and went, but Jughead honestly felt that every day she didn’t feel that pain was a gift.

            The nurse led them into a room, and left. And it was here that Jughead started to feel well and truly sick. Nausea was creeping up his stomach, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this tension he could take. This room was too falsely bright as well, white paint upon white paint, tile floors too polished. He dug the fingers of his free hand into his jeans until the knuckles bled white. His hands were shaking.

            When the doctor came in, a sort of sinking realization came in. The doctor, fuck he couldn’t even remember his name, was solemn, and that wasn’t good. Jughead felt like the room was spinning, and his ears were ringing: he caught “sporadic” “mutation” and “no cure”. The floor was slipping out from beneath him, and he stood suddenly. “So, what?!” Jughead shouted at this doctor, this stupid fucking man who didn’t even realize the implications of what he was saying, “you can’t do anything for her?! You’re not going to even try?!”

            “Jug,” Betty faintly whispered, her hand on his leg, but not really tugging, just kind of set there. She was in shock, which was understandable. She had just been told she was dying. And her boyfriend was freaking out, while she remained perfectly calm, a doll made of glass, afraid to move in case of shattering.

            The doctor sighed deeply, and rubbed at his tired eyes. He seemed so gray, Jughead thought faintly. His beard, his hair, even his skin, gray. A ghoul, come to deliver the worst news of his life. “There are treatments to make…the quality of life better.”

            “Fuck that,” Jughead snarled, wanting to punch the lights out of this old man. He wanted to make him feel the same pain that was crashing through his system, twisting his brain and his heart. All of his bones were breaking and fixing themselves in an instant. He was pretty sure something had ruptured inside of him – oh wait, his fucking heart. “We need to – fuck, I don’t know – something!”

            He was breaking, but so was Betty, only silently next to him. “Jughead.” She stated very quietly, and it was enough for him to break his gaze from the doctor and look into her eyes. Betty swallowed tightly. “I would like to go home now, I think.”

            Jughead blinked, and then he was in motion, helping her up, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her out the door. “We’ll be in touch,” he spat towards that useless gray man, and then they were gone from the office of hell, straight back into the dismal day outside.

            Only, come to think of it, hell was spreading.

**____________________**

            Jughead drove, and drove, and drove, and he didn’t know where the hell he was going. In circles, he dimly realized as he pulled over near a sign advertising maple syrup. Betty hadn’t said a word since they had left the doctor’s office, and he honestly didn’t think he would be able to drive them home.

            He left the car running and turned to her, even as she continued to stare steadily out the windshield. Like nothing was wrong. Like maybe today was only a bad day, a fucking sucky day and she just needed to be alone with her thoughts and then tomorrow perhaps she’ll feel better and open up about it and –

            A hot tear ran down his cheek as he stared at her. As he realized that Betty was spun gold, delicate and rare and precious, and he was some lucky fool who got to hold her in his hand for a little bit. But even gold could break, it can wear and bend, and one day, it’ll be gone. Gone, nothing to do about it.

            Another tear slipped, followed by another and another. And then Jughead was crying, sobbing, chest heaving and choked cries caught in his throat. It stirred Betty into awareness, and she reached forward and pulled him into her, held him while he cried and cried, staining that lilac dress with his tears. Up close, the scent of strawberries was almost overwhelming and he finally realized it.

            One day, that smell would no longer be around.

            So even though it was fucked up, he let her hold him and rock him while he sobbed over the years that would never come, even though Betty herself remained quite dry-eyed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stage I**

            The last place Jughead wanted to be the next day was back at the ghoul’s office, but there he was, Betty next to him, a mirror of the previous day. The only difference was that Jughead was numb inside, and a frozen Alice Cooper was stood in front of them, tapping her foot.

            Alice Cooper was known for being frigid, but when it came to her daughters, she was pure fire. Fiercely protective, enough for lines to blur. The mama bear would do anything for her cubs, including hurt them in order to save them. But this? Alice couldn’t do anything to protect Betty from this, from a mutation inside her brain. It wasn’t even genetic; it was a random occurrence. The Cooper’s genes were not to blame.

            Sporadic fatal insomnia. sFI. Jug could do nothing but listen as Dr. Rowan – Alice, of course, knew him – explained to the three what it was. A protein had mutated inside of Betty – despite his intelligence, Jughead wasn’t really able to follow all the jargon about proteins and mutations - and that was it. One minor change, and Betty was handed a death sentence.

            “How long have you been experiencing these symptoms, Betty?” Dr. Rowan asked, pushing thin glasses up further on his nose. His pen was poised over his clipboard, waiting.

            Betty sighed next to him, and Jug shifted in his seat to look at her. Alice pivoted, too, arms crossed over her chest and her face lined. “About…three months, give or take a week. I tried sleeping pills, too, but if anything, they only made me more tired.” She answered, meek and worn. Obviously, she hadn’t slept any better last night, worse really. Jughead had held her all the way through, even in his sleep. It was all he could do, and being useless wasn’t sitting well with him.

            Dr. Rowan nodded his head. “This disease…it’s incredibly rare. It’s only affected around one hundred people, and even that was mostly from genetics. Your case, the sporadic development, is even more unique. Especially at your age – most patients start to deteriorate in their fifties, though there have been cases of it occurring as young as eighteen. Medically, you’re a bit of a phenomenon.”

            Betty was special – _of_ _course_ her illness would be one of the rarest of them all.

            “And how long do those inflicted normally live after the onset of symptoms, Doctor?” Alice asked, face tight. Jughead winced. She was the type to ask the tough questions, demand the answers she wanted.

            Dr. Rowan folded his hands together. “On average, eighteen months.” The old geezer barely gave them time to digest that time frame, launching into a lecture about the disease that he had obviously prepared before they had arrived. “There are about four stages to this disease. Stage one, which you are in currently, involves increasing insomnia, which results in phobias, paranoia, and panic attacks. Normally, it lasts about four months.”

            Shit. She was already almost done with the first stage, Dr. Rowan was already continuing with his spiel, but Jughead had tuned out, even though it was likely important. So, following the average amount of life, Betty had just over a year to live. One single year. A year from today, she could even be gone, a spark that had brightened before sputtering out.

            Jughead felt the sting of tears caress the back of his eyes, and he sucked in a breath to steady himself. He couldn’t cry again, not in front of Betty when she had already held him when it was supposed to be the other way around.

            But her next words made his pain infinitely worse.

            “I want to freeze my eggs.”

            Both Alice and Dr. Rowan froze, Alice’s mouth still open to speak, and turned to Betty. Jug turned towards her too, saw how her hands were balled into fists on her lap, thumb twitching against the fabric of her sweat pants. Betty, in sweat pants in public. Everything was wrong and twisted upside down.

            “What was that, Betty?” Alice asked, a tremor in her voice. Jughead couldn’t even speak. His throat was cinched too tightly. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore.

            Betty sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “I want to freeze my eggs. Juggie and I…we always planned on having kids later in life, after getting married. And that’s not going to happen anymore. But I can…I can still give him kids. Our kids.” She turned to him then, eyes imploring, and placed her hand on his leg. He swallowed, tightly. Her eyes were locked and loaded on his. Surely she could see the tears threatening to release. “Even if it’s not for years, Jug, we could still have a family.”

            “We can’t.” Jug’s voice was thick, and he felt his throat constrict even further. “We can’t have a family years from now. Because you’ll be…you’ll be gone.” His vision was blurring, and there was a panicky feeling in his chest. He needed to escape, to leave the ghoul and this sickness all behind. He wished it was still yesterday, in the time he was innocent. “There won’t be a ‘we’. And I don’t think I c-can…raise our child by myself. Not without you.”

            Because of his troubled past, thoughts of having a kid even _with_ Betty were hard and required meditative breathing. Jughead didn’t have the best parents growing up, and he was terrified – _sickened_ – by the thought of descending to the depths his own father had fallen to. Maybe it was genetic, how the fuck was he supposed to know? And without Betty by his side…his mind whirled at the prospect.

            He couldn’t.

            Betty continued to look at him for a minute, expression unreadable. And then she slowly turned away from Jughead, to face her mother and her doctor. Dismissing him. “I want to freeze my eggs.”

            It was all that he could take. “I’ll see you at home,” Jughead murmured and stood up, fixing his hat as he walked out the door. Just the thought, the _idea_ of a blonde little girl or boy made him want to throw up. Being a parent without Betty – it wasn’t possible. His future wasn’t possible.

            Jughead was at his wit’s end. He was an awful human being, the absolute sickest, but he got inside his car and sped out of the parking lot, hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His eyes were burning, tears begging to be released, but somehow Jug managed to hold out until he screeched to a stop in front of Archie and Veronica’s apartment.

As he sat inside his car for a minute, looking up at the lavish building, he genuinely hated his two other best friends. He hated them for the future they would have, while his crashed and burned around him. Jealousy flared inside his gut.

            But his hatred simmered and then cooled, and with shaking hands, he got out of his car and headed inside.

            Jughead always felt uncomfortable inside Archie and Veronica’s apartment. It was too… _rich_ for his taste. He had the sensation that anything he touched would break, and it would be worth a years’ worth of his paycheck. But his usual inhibitions had abandoned him, and Jug went running inside, trekking in mud with him.

            “Jughead!” Veronica called out cheerfully when she saw him, though she frowned when she caught sight of his shoes. She slowly stood up, and Archie appeared, watching with a mix of horror and apprehension as his girlfriend inspected the muddy footsteps on the tile floor.

            Archie looked at him, eyebrows furrowed, like “dude, you know better,” and then something in Jughead’s expression clued him in. “Jughead Jones…” Veronica started, her voice slowly rising in pitch, and Archie turned a panicked expression on her, “what in the hell is wrong with you?! These floors were cleaned _yesterday_! I know you were raised in a trailer, but that’s definitely not a barn!” Her expression was murderous, brows drawn together and lips pulled back in a wolf-life snarl.

            Jughead sniffled, his hands tightening into fists as his eyes welled with tears. Veronica’s eyes widened and her mouth parted in shock as Jughead Jones promptly began to sob in her living room.

            They were on him in an instant, arms wrapping around his torso. Veronica was murmuring in his ear that she hadn’t meant it, it was rude and silly of her, but he didn’t even care that she had yelled at him. Hell, he didn’t care that he had muddied up her floors.

            “I-It’s Betty,” he managed to choke out between gasping breaths and shuddering sobs. Archie and Veronica frowned at each other, looking confused. Veronica was probably wondering if they had broken up, and if they had, why she hadn’t heard anything about it from Betty. “She’s…s-she’s dying.”

            For the rest of his life, Jughead will remember the way their expressions morphed and shifted. Archie stared at Jug, his mouth popping open, and a light dimming in his eyes. The arm he had around Jug’s shoulders trembled. Veronica’s hands flew to her mouth, fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. So delicate, so unaccustomed to grief. Neither thought to question him, because there was no way Jug would lie about something like that.

            And the whole awful, terrible truth came out. That Betty really was dying, and it wouldn’t be pretty. That she had only about a year left.

            This was the tragedy that would shape the rest of their lives, Jughead knew. The perfect girl next door was not supposed to die. She was supposed to live a magnificent life, with him and their friends. She was supposed to marry him, and have a couple of kids. Watch as those children and Polly’s played in the backyard. She was supposed to grow old with Jughead, swing on an old porch swing and knit and laugh through stories of their past.

            They wouldn’t get that now. They had this year, and Betty’s descent into her sickness. The light of his life was fading, and quickly.

            Jughead wasn’t sure how they all wound up huddled together on the couch. Veronica was silent, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared blankly at the wall. Archie’s fingers were pressed to his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he tried, and failed, to hold back his own soft whimpers.

            “Why?” Archie whispered, his voice dull, and Jughead felt the question in the pit of his stomach. Why, indeed? Why take the best part of his life and destroy it? Why annihilate his soul like this? There would never be a concrete answer, though he felt one that might suffice stirring in his mind.

            Jughead let out a bitter life as he rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes. “Because time is the thief of precious things, Arch.”

**____________________**

            “I _cannot_ believe you left her in the doctor’s office,” Veronica hissed, eyes blazing with a fury Jughead honestly didn’t have the patience for. “Your girlfriend _needed_ you, and you abandoned her!”

            He was already feeling like shit about it, to be honest. There was a sour taste in the back of his mouth, and he was about ready to break the skin of his lip with the consistency of his chewing. What Ronnie didn’t know was why he had left. Jug wasn’t entirely why he had left either – it had something to do with the fact that Betty was trying to plan his future without her _for him_. And also something to do with the expectations she was unintentionally laying on him. Did she really think he would ever be okay without her?

            “Let it go, Ronnie,” Archie whispered to his girlfriend as he drove, and she whirled on him, finger raising as if in signal of a verbal-lashing. But there was such a look of hopelessness on his face that Jug watched her stutter and fall silent. Archie looked like he had watched the sun rise only for it to blacken and crack to pieces in front of his very eyes. Jug could see his expression all the way from the backseat, and felt a kinship with it grow.

            Besides, Veronica meant well. This was just how she was processing her grief.

            Jughead had always had issues with running. FP had called him out for it several times, made him face his issues when he never really wanted to. The first time he had told Betty he loved her, he was internally shocked the moment the three words had crossed his lips. As Betty had replied in earnest, he had marveled at the fact that he was still standing across from her, and not fleeing to the hills.

            When Archie parked in front of his and Betty’s apartment building, that shitty feeling really smashed down on him. Jughead’s car was parked in its usual spot, which meant that Betty had found her way home. Alone. He was the worst boyfriend in the history of forever, but at least his tears had dried out. Instead, an aching numbness inside his chest had replaced them. Jug wondered, as he got out of the car, if this was what it felt like to have his heart slowly break.

            He didn’t really recall the walk inside, only registering that he had taken the stairs instead of using the elevator. It felt good to be a little breathless – of course, Ronnie probably didn’t appreciate the sentiment in her heels. But he wanted to feel an ache that came from something other than his emotions, something purely physical.

            Jughead pulled out his set of keys and opened the door with a trembling hand. He shuffled inside, Archie and Veronica trailing in after him. He felt Betty before he saw her, sensed her presence nearby. He pulled his beanie down more securely over his ears, and turned towards Betty. She was sitting at the kitchen table, hands clasped around a mug off coffee, pink lips parted as she stared at her friends.

            No one moved for a minute, but Jughead watched, as if he was an outsider standing at the window instead of inside the actual apartment, as Betty’s gaze dragged over Archie, Veronica, and finally him. He watched as understanding lit her face; she knew why they had come. And he watched as the dam behind her eyes finally cracked and broke to smithereens.

            Letting out a choked sob, Betty Cooper stood up and ran to her friends, and in their arms, finally began to mourn the loss of her life.

**____________________**

            It was late when Archie and Veronica went home. They had spent hours in the living room, huddled together on the couch. Most of those hours were spent crying, and talking about how this wasn’t fucking _fair_. After all they had gone through in their lives, they deserved a break and a chance to live normal lives.

            Jughead scoffed at the thought. Normal wasn’t for them, apparently.

            “How are you doing?” Jughead whispered as he looked over at Betty, his hands soapy from washing the dishes. He had done it without any prompting, and Betty hadn’t argued.

            He looked over his shoulder at her, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of her sitting at the table. Exhausted as she was, Betty was still beautiful. The prettiest girl he had ever seen, even in the simple hoodie and sweatpants she was currently cloaked in. That would always be true, no matter what happened to her.

            “I’m tired,” she admitted softly, turning in her seat to look at him. “Juggie, Dr. Rowan said…as the disease progresses, I won’t be able to get any deep sleep. Even now, I get some deep sleep, but eventually I won’t anymore. My brain won’t revive itself at that point.”

            Jughead dried his hands off and looked at her, before pulling up a chair next to hers. He took her hands in his, noticing how small her hands were compared to his. He flipped Betty’s hands over, checking for crescent moon indents in her skin. There were none. Jug couldn’t stop his sigh of relief from escaping.

            His eyes met hers, and he squeezed her hands. “I know. I did some reading up on it, since I stormed out in the middle of your doctor’s appointment.” Jughead gave her an apologetic smile, and was met with a twitch of her lips in response. They would talk about that later. Today was too soon – the thought of bringing up her eggs made his palms sweat and his chest hurt. And what he had read was horrifying enough that his mind was still processing some of it. It couldn’t happen to Betty…not his Betty.

            Yet it was.

            “But I’ll tell you what.” Jughead leaned forward a bit, his nose bumping hers. “We’re going to take this a day at a time, Betts. It won’t be easy, and I…I don’t know how we’ll do it. But we’re going to take each day and live it. Okay?” He gazed into her eyes, and was unsure of what he saw in them. Fear, yes. A lot of uncertainty, and pain.

            “Okay, Juggie,” Betty smiled, and Jug felt his body ease up a bit, tension melting away. “It won’t be easy. It’s going to absolutely suck, you know. And I…I wish you didn’t have to see me go like this…”

            He didn’t know how to respond to that, because he wished the exact same thing. So Jughead merely wrapped his arms around her, and tucked her close to him. No matter what, he loved her. And nothing would ever change that, this damn disease included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for your patience! Just a few quick things: one, this disease is real, but incredibly rare. That means that not all of what occurs with Betty will be entirely accurate. This is fiction, after all. Two, this chapter contains AN ATTEMPT AT SUICIDE. If that makes you uncomfortable, please skip the last section of this chapter. Thank you, and enjoy!

**Stage II**

            It was like a chill crawling consistently down his spine; like he was walking into spider webs and even though he had brushed them off, he still _felt_ them there. The spider would bite him soon. He could feel its fangs poised above his skin, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

            Jughead found Betty crouched in front of the kitchen cabinets at two in the morning, eyes staring blankly ahead while her nails clutched the bare skin of her knees. “Betty,” he whispered, placing his hands over hers, smoothing them out and clutching them. His touch revived her, and she blinked suddenly, body twitching in something like shock.

            “It won’t stop,” she told him rather urgently, leaning forward and staring directly into his eyes. Her gaze was intense, fevered, and not just a little dazed. She was exhausted; Jug knew she had slept only a few hours in the past couple days.

            “What won’t stop?” Jug murmured back, eyes searching hers. There was a sinking feeling in his chest – her paranoia was getting worse. Earlier that day he had found her locking all of the windows in their apartment. Just in case, she had told him.

            “The whistling,” Betty replied, leaning back against the cabinets. She pressed her shaking hands to her ears, and closed her eyes. A small whimper fell from her lips.

            No one was whistling.

**____________________**

            Auditory hallucinations. Betty was experiencing them regularly now. Yesterday, Veronica had told him that Betty had been singing in the kitchen. When Ronnie had asked what she was singing, Betty had replied that she was harmonizing with someone else. The radio hadn’t been on, and neither was the television.

            Her disease was progressing, and the worst part was that Betty was aware of it. She fell into vicious cycles of self-hatred, interspersed with the hallucinations that would only make her feel more awful. Those moments where her eyes cleared briefly before the self-loathing kicked in, God, they brought Jug to his knees.

Jughead felt trapped, and useless. He had already contacted his literary agent, Justine, and explained the situation. It had been the hardest thing in the world to say: “hi, Justine, I can’t finish my book any time soon because my girlfriend is dying.” Calling Justine was the final confirmation; he was forced by his actions to come to terms with it. Betty was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. Normally, the truth is supposed to set you free, but in this case, all it did was bury him even further than six feet underground.

When Jughead woke the next morning, Betty was still lying next to him on the bed, her eyes closed and breathing deep. He wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep, or trying to be. He didn’t disturb her though – with her like this, he could study her without interruption. There were dark half-moons under her eyes, ripe shadows. They were noticeable. Every time he looked at Betty, his eyes were drawn to the purplish-blue marks.

After a few minutes, he rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot first before returning to the bathroom to brush his teeth. As Jug studied himself in the mirror, he could see that he didn’t look much better himself. His skin was wan, and stretched a bit more tightly across his face, like he hadn’t been eating much. And he hadn’t been; it was hard to eat when Betty was struggling to.

She just wasn’t hungry. She ate as much as she could before she couldn’t do it anymore, and he wasn’t going to force it down her throat.

Jughead dried his face and went back to the kitchen, feeling a little restless as he waited for the coffee pot to finish. On a whim, he shrugged his jacket over his shoulders and headed outside to check the mail. But the moment he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a pink box sat on the hallway in front of his door. It hadn’t been there the night before, so someone must have dropped it off recently. There were black floral patterns along it, and words he could read quite clearly. ‘Georgetown Cupcakes’.

Jug frowned down at the box. People were really quite something. They had a fridge full of food donations; mostly homemade, since this was a small town, but no one had sent them _pity_ cupcakes yet. He suspected Hermione Lodge; she had the money for it, and he knew the Lodges’ were accustomed with a different sort of grief than what he was experiencing now. They knew the grief of losing; he was feeling the grief of losing _someone_. The Lodges’ didn’t understand it; Veronica was learning it, though

But…cupcakes were cupcakes. He wasn’t about to turn them down. So he picked up the pretty, pink box and took it inside the apartment, mail forgotten. He opened the box, took out the freezer packs, and lifted the tray out. All different kinds of cupcakes, twelve of them. With no regard for flavor, he plucked one up and poured a cup of coffee. Then he took his breakfast to the couch and took a sip of his drink.

Betty stirred minutes later. Maybe it was the rich smell of coffee that woke her, but she padded out later in her nightgown, slippers on. She looked so sleepy and adorable that he nearly spat his coffee out. Jug’s chest ached. She smiled tiredly at him before going further into the kitchen.

“Cupcakes?” He heard her rasp, voice still thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah. No name on the card. But…” he shrugged, trying to find the way to exemplify what cupcakes meant. You didn’t turn down free cupcakes. “Cupcakes are cupcakes.”

Betty was quiet for a minute, but he could hear her rustling in the kitchen, and the clink of dishes. She came out with a small plate, a cupcake perched on it, and a mug of coffee. Her cupcake was chocolate, that much was obvious – with a tiny flower of fondant perched on it. She gave him a tired smile before downing half of her coffee.

“Cupcakes are cupcakes,” she agreed.

**____________________**

Jughead was drinking more coffee than usual, but he was chalking it up to stress. And as he sat down across from Toni, he could see that she was registering it all: the slight bagginess to his clothes, his complexion, and the slight bags under his eyes. He forced a tight smile, before lifting his mug and taking a long sip.

“Wow,” she said, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “you look like shit.”

Jug snorted. “Thank you, Toni, for your kind words.” His eyes met hers, and he shook his head as he smiled a bit. Toni Topaz would do something to him his other friends would not: she would not bullshit him. She would not lie to him about his appearance out of some sick form of sympathy. Though he could tell from her eyes that she wanted to. After all, no one ever thought that something _this_ awful would ever happen to him. Jughead Jones had been through enough in his short life.

She smiled, but the worry remained in her eyes. “Where’s Betty at?” She asked him, before taking a sip of her own drink – some weird Frappuccino he wouldn’t have pegged to be her style at first glance, but after knowing her for all of these years, Jughead knew she held a secret love for them.

“She’s with her parents and Polly,” he answered, shifting a bit in his seat. “Hanging out with Polly’s twins. I think Kevin’s over there too. They’re going to drop her off at the apartment later.”

Toni hummed softly in response, before reaching over and placing her hand over his. Jug remembered, briefly, that one spark of romance that they had once had; that spark was gone now, smoothed over by years of an easy friendship with a woman who _got_ him in ways the others didn’t. Things were different on opposite sides of the tracks, especially with a father in jail. They didn’t need to be romantically linked – the bond they had now was better than any other type of relationship with her. And, of course, Betty was the love of his life. And she always would be.

“How are you holding up?” She leaned across the table to whisper, as if his plight was some awful secret the other citizens of Riverdale gossiped about behind closed doors. Actually, they probably did do that. But everywhere he went, the sympathy and the pity followed him and choked him from inside out. Sometimes he had to stop whatever he was in the middle of doing – like buying paper towel, for instance – and go home.

Not that home was much better. At home, he had to stay on his toes, and make sure Betty wasn’t about to hurt herself accidentally. Yet he preferred it; he would rather be at home with his girl. Their time was limited, and he would rather spend it with her than in the cloying pities and sympathies of the town’s denizens.

“I’m…holding,” Jughead let out a small laugh. “It still…doesn’t feel entirely real, that she’s fading day by day. But she is. And she knows it, and I know it, her parents know it, this whole damn town _knows_ it.” He let out a sigh as his hands clenched into fists. He wondered, then, if he would feel the same relief Betty did if he pressed his nails into his hands until little crescent moons were sliced into his flesh. If there was any relief to be had. “Watching her deteriorate like this…it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. She hears things, now, because her brain won’t let her sleep. Or the mutated protein or whatever,” he released his hands from those wretched fists and waved them in dismissal. He still didn’t understand whatever sporadic fatal insomnia was. He didn’t want to. Jughead preferred the faceless ghost to the fully defined one.

Toni was silent for a moment before she slapped her hand down on the table. Jug jumped a bit, startled. She looked at him emphatically for a minute before finally responding. “This fucking sucks.”

Jughead let out a bark of a laugh – it was shocked out of him, and it felt wrong to even let it pass his lips. But it did. “God, you’re so right.”

“If you need anything, you call, okay?” Toni insisted, playing with one of the many rings that adorned her fingers. Jug dipped his head once in affirmation. She wasn’t the only one to offer. The entire Cooper clan was constantly over at his apartment, or he was over at their house with Betty. Archie and Veronica practically lived with them now, though they went home at night. They didn’t want to witness what happened at night, when Betty couldn’t sleep and she cried and cried.

Jughead couldn’t begrudge them of the time they wanted to spend with Betty. He wanted to be as close to her as possible, as often as possible. The only reason he wasn’t at the Coopers’ residence now was that they had kicked him out for some quality ‘Cooper time’. He was trying to act like that hadn’t hurt his feelings just a little bit, because at the end of the day, he got it. He wasn’t born into the family. He hadn’t even married in.

Jug nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he agreed, though the only thing he really needed was for time to reverse, and a protein not to mutate.

**____________________**

When Jughead returned to the apartment, he was in reasonably good spirits after his chat with Toni. She had gotten him to laugh more than once, so it was a bit of a miracle. “Betty? Are you home?” He called out as he tossed his wallet onto the table and adjusted the beanie atop his head. When he didn’t hear a response, he shrugged and opened up the fridge. Betty was probably still at her parents’ house eating dinner or something.

Speaking of dinner, Jug hadn’t eaten since lunch, but as he studied the contents of the refrigerator, he realized he didn’t want any of the homemade goods currently stocked there. Instead, he grabbed a cupcake from the box and scarfed it. After eating the _delicious_ cupcake and tossing the wrapper into the trash, he wandered into the bedroom. Jughead was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to relax on the bed and watch some awful TV.

As he walked over to the bed, he noticed something. There was light glowing from underneath the bathroom door. Jughead didn’t think too much about it – both he and Betty were a tad forgetful at this point – but he strode over to the door and pushed it open to turn it off.

And was greeted by the sight of Betty hunched over the sink, an empty bottle knocked over next to it, with a handful of pills clutched tightly in her palm.

The world fell out from under his feet as he watched her head lift, and those beautiful eyes of hers meet his own. He swayed, and he saw those crystal tears glisten on her cheeks. Watched her debate whether to swallow that handful of pills or not.

“Don’t,” he whispered, ragged, and stumbled for her, his own hand coming up to smack those pills away from her. They clattered to the floor, and Betty’s face crumbled at the sound. “Don’t…don’t you ever,” he breathed out, and felt his knees give out. He slid to the floor, his arms wrapping her legs, tightening his grip until he was sure she couldn’t escape. Couldn’t leave him.

The colors around him faded to gray as Betty slid down against the cabinet and had her hands on his arms. “Jug, Jug, please, don’t be mad at me,” she sobbed into his shoulder. She didn’t realize that he didn’t have the energy to be angry at her, not when he was thinking about what he would have come home to if he had been an hour later. “I just…I didn’t want you to watch me go through this.”

That stirred some anger into his guts. And then he was on fire, eyes ablaze as he took Betty by the hands and _made_ her look at him. “I will take every _second_ I can get with you, whether your mind is going or not. Betty, _I love you_. And I want it _all_. So _don’t you try to take that away from me._ ”

His breathing was ragged, eyes wild. Betty was solemn, hands trembling in his, eyes sparkling with tears. She did not look like the perfect girl next door anymore – she looked like a woman lost, with the man in front of her not her savior, but only an observer. No one could save her, and she knew that.

“Okay,” she whispered, and rested her head on his chest, body trembling from the feeling of a life nearly lost – a life still fading.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised her, an ache in his chest forming. That was a promise he could not keep. They both knew it. The only way to keep that promise would be to go back in time, or discover an alternate universe.

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Please remember that I am not a doctor, nor am I in the medical field; thus, how I portray Betty's sFI may be inaccurate. It's entirely possible that it differs mildly between those afflicted, as well. Enjoy!

**Stage II**

            Something had been brewing inside of Jughead for days. Every second that he was with Betty (and every second that he wasn’t, rare as it was) it roiled and churned inside of him. He needed it. He needed to _say_ it. There were times when the words nearly flung themselves out of his throat before Jug swallowed them back down.

            Because he needed her to say yes. And he wasn’t entirely sure that she would.

**____________________**

            “The meditation helps,” Betty told him in the dark of the night. Jughead blinked blearily at her, having been stirred from sleep seconds ago as she had entered their bed. He looked past her at the alarm clock on the end table: 3:07AM.

            “That’s good,” Jug murmured, voice thick with sleep. He reached over and tugged an arm around her, pulling her close. Betty melted into him, body frail and thin against his own. She still wasn’t eating enough. After all, what _was_ enough when you were well and truly dying anyway? “Meditate anytime you like.”

            Betty let out a soft snort, and Jughead nearly cried. Right now, she was almost as much of herself as she could be. A more cynical version of herself, but it was Betty. Right now, she wasn’t exhaustion and panic attacks and hallucinations. She was…she just _was_. Empty of all of the nightmares that normally plagued her.

            It was now or never. He felt it in the air.

            Jughead used to be against the institution of marriage; he was sort of against institutions in general. This was something Betty knew about. After watching the deterioration of his parents’ marriage, and then watching Fred Andrews go through it himself had set him against it. His parents, he knew, were different. But Fred was perhaps the best, most honest human being Jughead had ever met, and marriage hadn’t worked for him either.

            Yet, things had changed. His life had changed.

            “Marry me,” Jug whispered into Betty’s ear, into the dark void of their bedroom. He heard her intake of breath, that sharp gasp, and felt her nails cling into the skin of his arm. From the moonlight coming through the window, he could see her eyes, wide and flickering.

            “I’m dying.” Betty declared in response, a fact she rarely stated. She only said it now because…because she knew that was why he had decided to marry her now.

(What Betty didn’t know, though, is that if she was going to live instead, he would marry her anyway. In an alternate dimension where she didn’t get sick, in about three or four years, Jughead would propose.)

            This wasn’t an alternate dimension. This was what they had. And, dammit to hell, Jughead was trying to make the best of it. For his sake, and her own.

            “I’m aware.”

            Betty was quiet for a few minutes, thinking to herself. Jughead was almost afraid that she had slipped away again – that his proposition had caused her to lose what little semblance of sanity she currently had. He sat up on his arm, looking down at her, only to see that she was looking back. Her face was clear. Sane.

            “Well, I guess when I die you’ll get widow’s benefits, then.”

            It was so unlike her to say something like that – that was his style of coping, and it shocked him so much that he laughed. _Actually_ laughed, a full-on belly laugh. Betty smiled beneath him, a quick quirk of her lips, her blonde hair shining in the light. Fuck, she was so pretty, even with the exhaustion and hint of despair plain on her face.

            “Is that a yes?”

            Betty curled into him, fingers tucking into the soft fabric of his t-shirt as she tugged him to her. “Yes, Juggie, _yes_.”

**____________________**

            They made love for the first time in weeks that night, and drifted off afterwards in each other’s arms. Bare skin pressed against bare skin. When Jughead woke up the next morning, his arms were empty, and the spot on the sheets next to him was cold.

            It didn’t stop him from feeling hopeful, for a moment. He forget that she was slipping away. Instead, Jughead was lazily day-dreaming about calling Betty his wife. About a wedding in a golden afternoon, Betty swaying her way down the aisle, a dream of white and beauty. All of their friends gathered before them, cheering as they kissed their way into the next chapter of their lives together.

            Betty Cooper was his fiancée.

            That, however, did not stop the march of time.

            A crash sounded from the living room, and Jughead was out of bed before he had even registered that something was wrong. He scampered – actually _scampered_ – to the living room, where Betty was curled against the floor, breathing far too quickly, a vase shattered right next to her.

            “Betty, _fuck_ ,” He cursed, panic flooding his very soul, and did the only thing he could do. He quick-stepped his way through the glass shards, ignoring the pain of them slicing into his skin, and kneeled next to her. Betty was curled into a ball, head between her knees, pupils dilated.

            Jughead didn’t know what brought on the panic attacks – what she saw or thought about that triggered them. Or if they even had a trigger; with this disease, maybe it was possible that they just _happened_.

            It didn’t matter. Jug did what he knew how to do; he sat next to her, naked as could be on the wooden floor littered with glass, and pulled her onto him. Betty whimpered and struggled, and Jug let her. He let her adjust on him so that she no longer felt trapped – when she was okay, she let her head drop on his chest.

            After a while of simply letting her be, perched on his lap, Betty’s breathing slowed and returned to normal. When Jughead looked at her, a vicious look of self-hatred painted her face in shadows. “Don’t,” he said, setting his hand on her arm. “Don’t.”

            She did anyway. Especially when she noticed the broken vase, and the cuts on Jughead’s feet. And when she noticed, she cried.

            “I don’t deserve you,” Betty cried into his chest, barely moving, afraid that even shifting might cause more glass to dig into Jug’s skin. She was dressed, in shorts and a tank top so barely, but dressed all the same.

            Jughead, suddenly and all at once, clutched her tightly to him and stood. He winced as he eyed any path that he could escape out of. It was everywhere. He took the one that showed the smallest amount of glass and set Betty down once it was clear. She seemed steadier – Jughead had just carried her to safety, both literally and figuratively. He had brought her back, even for a moment. “I’ll get the broom,” she insisted, hands shaking, and he couldn’t argue.

            So Betty swept up the glass of the vase she had inadvertently broken, and when she was done, she and Jughead went into the bathroom. She picked the glass out of his skin – from his feet to his ass – and bandaged him up where needed.

            They didn’t talk about a wedding. This was a sobering enough moment. A wedding wouldn’t fix anything at all – which Jughead had known, but it still crushed something inside of him. Some hope that had waited and waited, and was now gone beyond a doubt.

            Betty’s eyes were vacant by the time they were done. That was all she had for the day.

            Jughead knew if he looked in the mirror, his eyes would look the same.

**____________________**

            No one protested their decision to get married. Not even Alice, who Jughead had been _sure_ would object. She had grown used to Jughead years ago, tolerated him even. Now that Betty was dying, Alice had finally decided that she _did_ like him. Right when it was too late for it to really matter.

            Veronica had gone down a similar thought path as Betty – “Are you doing this for the benefits?” She asked, eyebrows raised, looking as if she wasn’t sure if she approved about it or not.

            “Jesus, _no_ , Veronica.” Jughead rubbed at his forehead. “We’re not getting married because of that. We’re getting married because…because we can. And I think Betty and I deserve it.”

            Betty was in the living room, meditating. He, Veronica and Archie were clustered around the kitchen table, hot mugs of coffee clutched in their hands. Jug was sure that she could hear every word being said, but she didn’t say anything. She was focusing – the meditation was the only thing that helped; it wasn’t a cure, but it soothed.

“I think…” Archie started, and paused, swallowing tightly. “I think that you guys do deserve it. And I’ll help you both in any way that I can.” With that being said, Archie stood up from his seat and moved into the living room. Jughead heard the soft murmur of Betty’s voice, and then the two were talking, too quietly for him to hear.

Veronica stared after her longtime-boyfriend, lips turned down. They were all taking it hard, but Archie, perhaps out of all of them, appeared to be the most like a puppy that had been kicked. Jug got it – he couldn’t afford to wallow really, because Betty was around. She didn’t need to see him like that. It would only hurt her.

Ronnie turned her eyes on Jughead, and neatly pressed her fingers together. “Obviously, I support the two of you as well. And I’ll…I’ll take her wedding dress shopping.” Before Jughead could protest, she waved her hand in dismissal. “Please. I would have done it anyway, Jug. Let me…just let me.”

She’s tired, too. Veronica was always put together; even now, she’s dressed immaculately, her pearls on and her nail polish unblemished. But there were cracks in the façade: her skin was wan, her eyes were dull, and she had circles under her eyes. Though they couldn’t face up to Betty’s.

Jug nodded, understanding. “Okay,” he whispered, looking down at the coffee clutched between his two hands.

**____________________**

This was a trip that Jughead hadn’t wanted to make, but here he was, outside of Greendale’s minimum-security prison. His father was inside, either in his cell or perhaps in the yard out back. It was his second-to-last year.

Jughead trudged inside slowly, shoes scuffing the walkway. The attendant at the counter recognizes him – after all, he’s been coming here for six years now, at least once a month if not more. He checked in, and went through the screening, and then sat down at one of the table’s, twisting his shirt in his hands.

He hadn’t told FP about Betty, yet. Actually, he had come today to let his father know that he was getting married. And about to be widowed.

FP strode into the greeting room, a fellow prisoner behind him. He was clad in gray, his usual colors inside, the shirt and pants fitting tightly to his skin. He’d gained weight. At least he was eating. After FP had been put in jail for the Jason Blossom issue, he’d stopped eating for a time. That had been years ago, but Jug still remembered – and was grateful that his father was doing as well as he could in prison, because he honestly couldn’t take anymore.

“Jughead.” FP greeted, pulling his son in for a tight hug. Only a few seconds, but it was enough for FP to sense the tension in Jughead’s body. He pulled back, eyes searching. “What’s wrong?”

There had been a time, back before FP was put in jail, where father and son had rarely spoken. Jughead had lived in the Twilight Drive-In, and then squatted at the high school, and then stayed with Archie. His father hadn’t been doing well. But now…now they were okay, if not on solid ground.

Jughead felt like crying the instant FP touched him. There was just something so comforting and _sad_ about his father’s hug. But he did what he came here to do and sat down with FP; he told him the story.

They were both crying by the end of it. “Maybe I can get furlough,” FP muttered, wiping tears from his eyes with the heel of his free hand – his other was clasped tightly with Jug’s. “And come to the wedding.”

A fresh wave of tears threatened Jughead, and he swallowed hard, forcing them back. “I would love that,” he admitted, taking a deep, steady breath. “And so would Betty. She wanted me to tell you that she wanted to be here. It was just…easier this way.”

“That woman has nothing to be sorry for.” FP replied quite firmly, giving his son’s hand a squeeze. His eyes were steady on Jug’s. “She has absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Tell her…tell her that _I’m_ sorry, if anything. And that I wish I was there.”

Betty was Jughead’s salvation; FP knew that. If Betty hadn’t been there for Jughead when even FP wasn’t, it’s likely that Jughead would have wound up in a similar position to his father. Of course, Archie wasn’t easily dismissed, but Betty _got_ him in ways that Archie never had.

It’s always a loss when you lose someone, but this was like the world was crumbling to pieces, and there was nothing to be done about it.

**____________________**

They married on a Saturday afternoon, in the Riverdale park. Golden light filtered through the trees above them, and when Betty walked steadily down the aisle the guests had made for her, Jughead cried. He cried tears of sadness, yes, because it was likely that they wouldn’t have an anniversary – but he also cried tears of joy, because Betty was resplendent in a dress of pure white. He was glad he would have this memory to look back upon.

Her dress was full, to hide how thin she had become, but Jughead didn’t care. She was smiling sweetly as she slowly approached him – even though she was dying, this was still their wedding. They were still getting married. It was happening.

FP stood beside him, hands clasped in front. He nodded at Hal briskly as Betty’s father handed her off, and Jughead couldn’t help but smile as he took Betty’s hand. They hadn’t bothered with a big wedding procession – no best man or maid of honor, though they both knew that Archie and Veronica would have been in those respective roles. This wedding was about them, and them only. Their journey.

It was Fred who was officiating their wedding. Jughead had asked, since Fred had gone through the process online a few years ago, for the still unmarried Archie and Veronica. This was a good trial run – though he knew Fred didn’t see it as that. Jughead was a son to Fred, and Betty was a daughter to him.

So Fred began, and almost immediately, Jughead tuned him out. He would have tuned anyone out, honestly. Instead he thought about Betty’s hand clasped in his, and he kept looking at her in his peripheral vision. She seemed calm enough – last night she had been miserable, stricken with hallucinations that had lasted hours. But she had meditated most of today, and it helped. For now.

Most of Riverdale had shown up – he had even noticed the bright flash of Cheryl Blossom’s hair in the crowd, though she had moved to New York City years ago. Betty was her cousin, though; she must have heard, through the grapevine.

“And now, Jughead, if you would like to read your vows,” Fred said gruffly, bringing Jughead back to reality. He swallowed, turning to face his soon-to-be-wife, and dug for the paper he had typed up this morning while she had meditated. He hadn’t known, exactly, what to say, which was astonishing. Words were his thing.

Jughead cleared his throat and took a deep breath. This was going to be hard.

“Betty Cooper,” he started out, his voice thick in his throat. Betty merely smiled gently at him, giving his hand a squeeze. Even all of the foundation couldn’t hide the half-circles under her eyes. “I remember wanting you to be mine all the way back in middle school. Back when I was sure that our destinies were not entwined, the way that they are now. And I remember being so grateful to even be in your presence. I remember the first time we kissed. I _remember_ , Betty, and I won’t forget. Because you are the light of my life, and you _saved me_.” His voice cracked, and he took another breath. Jughead wished that he could save her in return.

“You are mine, and I am yours, in every sense of the word. No matter what time does to us, nothing will change that. I love you. We…we are forever.”

Jughead was crying, and his voice had dropped to a whisper, but Betty had heard, and that was all that mattered. She was crying too, tears that streaked down her cheeks, pretty as a portrait. Betty leaned in and kissed his cheek, and it made him quake. One day she wouldn’t be able to do that.

One day. But today she could, and Jughead was thankful.

Fred took a deep, steadying breath before blowing it out sharply. “Betty…your vows, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, looking achingly devastated.

Betty held out a slim hand, and Jughead dug out her paper from his jacket. She had wanted to memorize her vows, but she hadn’t been sure if she could.

“Jughead Jones.” Betty began in the same way, smiling like an angel about to leave for heaven, and he almost sobbed. It was quivering in his throat, begging to be released. “You are something that I never expected. _We_ are something that I never expected.” Her smile grew sad, and Jug remembered; the girl next door to the boy, at least until Veronica had shown up. Thank god. “But that’s why you’re my miracle, Juggie. And every morning when I wake up next to you, I am thankful for everything that you’ve done. You’re the rock in my storm, who I cling to when everything is falling apart. And even when it’s calm, you’re still there. It’s…incredible.” Betty paused and wiped away a single tear. It shined on her fingertips.

“I love you with every cell of my being. It hasn’t always been an easy love, but it’s definitely been strong. You and I are invincible. And our story will not end when I do. I love you, and even when we are both dust, I will love you. It’s always us, babe.” Betty took in a shaking breath, and Jughead pulled her into his arms. Their hearts beat together, frantically, but in sync.

It was silent for a moment; no one spoke, not even Fred. But Jughead could feel the support rippling through the crowd; they were Riverdale’s children still.

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss to bride.” Fred proclaimed, and so Jughead leaned in and captured Betty’s lips with hers. And the crowd cheered – and cheered and cheered, not solemn, not sad, but happy.

Betty laughed against his lips and pulled away. _His wife._ God, nothing had ever sounded so good. It felt like he had been reborn into a new world, one where he and Betty were now bound by _everything_ – themselves, obviously, and now the law. Once he would have chafed under it, but now he rejoiced

Jughead had never thought that their love story would be anything similar to _Romeo and Juliet_ when he had first called Betty ‘Juliet’ years ago. But, as he looked at his wife as she smiled, and they walked down the aisle together, he found that he didn’t mind.

They were lost in time, but he was grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
